The Day After
by leavinghope
Summary: Sally Donovan and Greg Lestrade discuss their roles in the death of Sherlock Holmes. This can be read as a stand-alone story, but it also serves as back-story for "A Study in Women". I hope you enjoy it.


Sally Donovan hesitated when she saw Greg Lestrade at the bar. She wasn't sure the Detective Inspector would want to see her, not now. Before she could back out of the crowded pub, though, Lestrade looked up and waved her over. Donovan took a deep breath as she approached.

"It's okay, Sally."

The sergeant settled on to the stool next to him. "No, it really isn't."

The two police officers sat in silence as the bartender brought Sally her first pint and Greg his second. Sally took a long drink, and then set the glass down with a sigh.

"I'm sorry about your suspension."

"Not your fault," replied Lestrade.

She removed her jacket and placed it in her lap. "I'm also sorry about…"

Greg cut her off. "Also not your fault."

Sally's frustration with herself caused her voice to crack. "Of course, it is. I'm the one who pressed you to bring Holmes in. And now he's dead, and Watson is…" Her voice gave out.

Greg rubbed his face, trying to wipe the sleeplessness from his eyes. "I know you find it hard to believe right now, but you did the right thing." At Sally's look of surprise, he continued. "The way the girl reacted to Sherlock, those strange clues that he found at the boarding school… I was primed to believe him because, well, he's Sherlock Holmes. But if it'd been anybody else, I would have suspected him."

Sally hesitated, but had to ask, "Do you suspect him now?"

He tossed back the remnants of his beer, placed his glass on the bar, waved at the bartender for another, and responded emphatically, "No."

Sally fidgeted with her mobile phone. She needed to talk to Lestrade, but did not know if he was able to hear her yet.

"I didn't know Anderson would go over your head to force the warrant. I just wanted you to ask Holmes more questions. I thought Watson would make him see sense."

Greg looked sadly at his next empty pint glass. "I wish I could be at work to help smooth things over for John, poor bastard."

Sally noticed Lestrade was still in the same clothes from the night this began. "All of us know that Watson wasn't Holmes' hostage, but if he wants to maintain that fiction, I'll help."

Greg arched his left eyebrow questioningly.

"He's suffering enough."

Greg said, "I doubt he'll allow people to think that Sherlock took him hostage in the aftermath of all of this. John will be out there trying to clear his name."

Sally smiled weakly. "That man, he'll do it, too."

The silence between the two officers was louder than the sounds of the crowded pub around them. The need to vent her feelings allowed Sally to break through.

"You know, I have always thought that you could tell a lot about a person by the way they are mourned." She paused briefly, taking a sip of her beer. "I barely felt anything when my mother died, but my brother spiraled into a depression that lasted for months. That encapsulated our relationships with the woman." Sally shook her head. "Watson's response yesterday… Jesus. So silent. So still. He's always had tight control, but this was different. Like it was his life that had bled out onto the pavement and there was nothing left in him."

"Yeah."

"He was the one who knew Holmes the best. Watson is a good man, and he knew Holmes the best, and he is devastated."

Greg nodded, seemingly unable to say anything.

"How could Holmes be a fake and Watson mourn him so deeply at the same time?" Sally didn't expect an answer.

"He isn't guilty, Sally."

"And that means I helped kill him." She rubbed her temples roughly. "Lestrade, I did not get into this profession to become a killer myself."

"That isn't what happened, Sally. We don't know yet what actually did transpire, but you did not make Holmes kill himself."

"I wish it felt that way."

"I understand completely," Greg responded, his voice also tinged with guilt.

"Should I even be in this job when my judgment can lead to a man's suicide?"

Greg reached out and patted Sally's forearm. "Alright, I'm not on duty, but here are my orders. I want you to talk to our trauma therapist, okay? I know this isn't an "in the line of duty" situation, but you should talk this out with him. Your judgment was fine, better than mine… we had no way of knowing this would happen."

Resigned, Sally nodded. Lestrade had a point. It would be good to talk to someone who did not know Holmes personally. Someone who didn't know how the man could hurt you with words, yet make you admire him at the same time for solving crimes with a single glance. If that is in fact what Holmes had ever done. But Watson knew the man, and Watson saw and he mourned and he believed.

Sally sighed. How is it that, in death, Holmes could make her trust him more?

She squared her shoulders.

"Before you're back from your suspension next week, I promise you, I'll have facts. Either Holmes was a fake or he wasn't, but we'll know."

A slight smile came to Lestrade's face. "Thank you, Sally." He got up off the stool and straightened his coat. "I'd better go home while I still can."

She gestured at his empty pint glasses. "Let me cover this for you?" Sally asked.

"Sure." He attempted to make things light. "Since you're still getting paid and all."

Greg patted her on the shoulder, not quite with genuine friendliness, but he was making the effort. It was just the day after, after all.

"Lestrade. Greg… " Sally's voice caused him to pause, a dark silhouette against the lingering daylight beyond the front window of the pub. "My condolences on the loss of your friend."

Greg huffed out a bitter laugh. "Friend? Huh. I guess he really was." He waved and left the pub.

Sally was overwhelmed by the urge to make things right for Lestrade. She always railed against the stereotype that women should take care of men, that women were the more nurturing gender. Reality was more complicated than that. One of the sticking points with her mother had been that Sally shunned relationships to pursue her career. But there had been Mark, who wanted her to leave her gun at work rather than have it in their flat. There had been Tarik, who wanted her to quit her dangerous job before they could get married to alleviate his worries. Married men like Anderson could not make demands of her, but still left her unsatisfied. She wanted an equal partnership in all things: family, relationships and career. The strong desire to help Greg because he was hurting struck her as wrong at first, an instinct brought on by years of building emotional defense mechanisms.

But Sally fervently believed that people should look after each other and put others' needs before their own. That was the mark of a good police officer. That was the mark of a good person.

That was the mark of a good friend.

Sally gasped as she was hit by the sudden insight that Holmes must have felt the same way in the end. She drank the final sips of her beer and shrugged her jacket back on. Leaving bills on the counter to cover the tab, she walked out of the pub with the intention of returning to work instead of heading home. Sally Donovan had always wanted to know the truth about Sherlock Holmes, and on the day after his death, she had the very best of reasons to discover it.


End file.
